My legs were like jelly, threatening to give way any second: GR Vishwanath

(The excerpt is in the context of his record-breaking century on debut in the India-Australia test match in Kanpur, in 1969)

‘Relax, boy, don’t worry,’ were the first words. It was the captain’s distinctive, familiar voice. ‘You will get a hundred. Don’t be tense.’

Tiger’s reassurance hit home at once. Even while he was talking, I knew that it’s not as if he were certain I would get a hundred, or that he even expected me to do so. Just because he had said that didn’t mean I would automatically get there. But my tension dissipated in a jiffy and I was overcome by a sense of calmness. Tiger’s confidence was a soothing balm. But only for a few deliveries. It didn’t take long for the nerves to resurface, not helped by the fact that once Farokh got out, Mankad and Wadekar put on more than 50 for the second wicket. Eventually, when Wadekar was dismissed, it was my time of reckoning.

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I have no idea what the spectators’ reaction was when I crossed the boundary line and entered the arena. There might have been resounding boos or claps of encouragement, but to me, there was just the sound of silence. My legs were like jelly, threatening to give way any second, but my face gave nothing away. I thought it was ominous, though, that the first ball I would face in the second innings would be from the same bowler who had got me out in the first—Connolly.

***

That ball is still fresh in my memory, on a good length and defended off the middle of the blade. It felt good, but it wasn’t enough.

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A week ago, it would have been a different story. Till then, middle of the bat on first ball was practically the trigger on which I thrived. Not anymore. I know there are tons of high-quality batsmen who love that feeling, but the first-innings duck involuntarily transformed my mindset. For the rest of my career, I would only start breathing after I got off the dreaded ‘nought’. Maybe that explains why I have only 10 zeroes in 155 Test innings, or that I picked up just one career ‘pair’, in the Ranji Trophy.

The jitters eased somewhat when, maybe 10 minutes into my innings, I glanced Graham McKenzie to fine leg for a single. I had my first Test run. No big deal, you say. An improvement on my first innings, I raise.

Once the first-run ‘monkey’ was off the back, I settled down. One of my few regrets is that there is no video footage of that innings, a knock I consider one of my best hundreds even without the attendant self-imposed pressure. It was a very clean innings; the shots were perfect in that they went exactly where I wanted them to go. It was an effort built on fours—I had 25 of them. Later on, every time Sunil referred to me as ‘the boundary man,’ I would immediately reflect on my first Test hundred.

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There was a minicollapse not too long after my entrance, with Mankad, Tiger and Ashok dismissed for the addition of just 25 runs. I had been looking forward to having a partnership with the skipper, but he was trapped leg before by a McKenzie ball that came in for a duck. At 147 for five and so much time left in the game, we were in trouble.

Out came my roomie, at No. 7, to join me. There was a general view that, not unlike Abid Ali, Ekki was a utility cricketer. A fluent left-hand bat, he could bowl both left-arm medium-pace and spin in addition to being an outstanding fielder whether in the deep where his anticipation was incredible, or in close where he pulled catches out of thin air. The way he moved in the outfield was an awesome sight, and once he eased into short leg with the spinners in operation, you always felt a moment of magic was around the corner. In my book, Ekki is much, much more than a utility cricketer.

I was delighted that, having spent so much time together off the park, Ekki and I had a chance to bat side by side. Over the last few days, we had discussed batting together and talked about how much fun that would be. This was our chance to extend our friendship to a meaningful on-field association, especially with the team needing us to deliver.

Ekki played his strokes freely while I breezed past my 50, and we were unseparated at stumps. We had put on 57, I was batting on 69. What a day it bad been! I knew, though, that the night would be no different to the previous four.

***

Neither of us generally slept long hours, so much of that night was spent reliving our partnership. The anxiety and tension of the past had disappeared, the adrenaline had taken over. At one level, we couldn’t believe what we had done; at another, it was so satisfying that I had brought up the first mini-milestone of my Test career in the company of one of my best friends.

Ekki pointed out that I had a great chance to get to three-figures. Overnight, he was 20, but he had batted really well and I told him that he must make the most of good touch, too. We kept chatting until we forced ourselves to get some sleep, well aware that there was unfinished business and that we needed to be fresh when play started the next morning.

I would have loved for Ekki to be the first to congratulate me when I got to 100, but unfortunately, he fell to McKenzie for 35, stopping our stand at 110. I was disappointed for him but also aware of the job on hand, consciously ensuring that I didn’t do anything silly.

With new man S. Venkataraghavan, I stitched together another useful stand as we gradually wended our way towards safety. I eased into the 90s, but the journey from thereon was anything but swift. It took me 44 minutes to go from 92 to three-figures. Bill Lawry did what Bill Lawry does best—pack the infield and cut off singles. Lawry made me work really hard for those eight runs, but as I was to learn later, that was typical Lawry. He never gave an inch, nor did he seek any. It was a tough learning for me, but it was also a good lesson very early on in my career.

Strangely, I felt no nerves during that phase. I knew it was only a matter of time before the runs came, I was willing to wait patiently and stick to my natural game. That approach had brought me into the Indian team, it had taken me to 92 in this innings. Why change it just because a century beckoned?

The wait was over when I square drove Gleeson for four. The first emotion was great relief. Then, a tsunami of delight and satisfaction swept me away.

I had never expected to get a century in Test cricket and most certainly not on debut. I had been forced to earn that privilege, and I was fortunate that my colleagues had backed me to the hilt after the first-innings debacle. But at the same time, I was conscious that there still was a game to save. We knew there was no way we were going to win the Test, so it was imperative that we didn’t do anything daft and lose it.

(Courtesy: Rupa Publications)